


Yoongi's Favorite Tutor

by bookworm1848



Category: Kpop - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fantasy, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm1848/pseuds/bookworm1848
Summary: Min Yoongi doesn't regret lacking in his sixth year.





	

As soon as the doors of the Great Hall shut after the closure of dinner, Yoongi sped to the library with an armful of books and a very bent quill. He bowed his head towards Madam Pince politely and set his stuff down next to a mousy-faced boy with neat tufts of black hair.  
“Hey, Jimin.”  
“Yoongi,” Jimin lightly shoved an open book about death potions under his nose, “how wonderful to see you at eight o’ clock this evening. Shall we start?”  
“’Course,” Yoongi peered curiously at the text beneath him. “Glad we’re starting with Potions. For me, Snape’s class is absolutely dreadful.”  
“I see,” Jimin consulted the ragged piece of parchment beside Yoongi’s History of Magic book. “All A’s except for an T and a D in Potions. You definitely do need help. How’d you get a T in Divination?”  
“Lied about all my prophecies,” grunted Yoongi. “Trelawney figured it out pretty quick. They were all about Quidditch.”  
“Ah,” Jimin faked a tone of understanding. “Well…” He extracted a very thin marker from his bag. “Trelawney’s class isn’t that hard when you get used to it. Sixth year, you are?”  
Yoongi nodded.  
“Divination is really hard to adjust to, even after a while,” Jimin intoned, justly, “it takes work. With all the chaos this year, it seems a lot are more interested in all she’s got to say. Now, if we are to start with Potions”—Jimin dug into his bag and pulled out a pair of round, dusty glasses and perched them atop the bridge of his nose—“we can start with these notes I got from Professor Slughorn.”  
“Professor who?”  
“Old teacher,” Jimin said, flatly. “All the way back from You-Know-Who’s day actually.”  
“He must be old,” Yoongi said, amusingly. “Like in his 90’s, I expect?”  
“I heard around 70’s, but I could be wrong. Anyway, read these”—he shoved them towards Yoongi—“and study the properties of these potions fairly well and then come back later on after dinner and we can continue on. I can’t really expect to tutor you with much interest if you haven’t learned the basics. Any questions?”  
“N-No,” Yoongi lied, thoughtfully, as he stared down at the disheveled jumble of words he couldn’t even begin to understand. “Absolutely not.”  
“I’ll walk you to back to your common room.”  
Jimin stood from his chair and slung his bag over his shoulder as Yoongi tidily fixed his things in his own. Without another word, they set off through the door and down the second floor corridor.  
“I’ve seen you play Quidditch,” said Jimin as they idly passed Nearly Headless Nick. “One of the best Beaters Slytherin’s ever had.”  
“Hufflepuff’s not bad either,” Yoongi said in a tone that was supposed to propose peace. “Zacharias Smith’s a fair player.”  
“He’s a fair git, that’s what he is,” grunted Jimin disdainfully. “He’s always so full of himself and his hair’s always so messy.” Yoongi found himself touching at his pale green locks at those words. “Sad that the rest of the season’s been postponed because of that issue with the gargoyle?”  
“A little. It takes getting used to, but I still miss watching the matches.”  
They silently turned and glided down the marble staircase, watching the empty vicinity below them.  
“Where is everyone?”  
“In their beds, I expect,” said Jimin. “I’m surprised you didn’t just come tomorrow morning. Isn’t your captain always begging you to sleep well?”  
“Our captain’s in love right now,” Yoongi said, idly. “Have you heard of Namjoon?”  
“Really tall, slender guy, blondish hair?”  
Yoongi nodded.  
“Of course. We used to be friends, but we don’t talk much. He’s not a bad chap.”  
They trounced through a small wooden door beside one of the flowing tapestries and emerged in the light of the moving staircases. Yoongi and Jimin went up the first few flights of stairs together before Jimin stopped by the round, dusty portrait of a bearded, pompous man.  
“I’ll guess I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”  
“You bet,” Yoongi said in a tone of faux confidence. “Good night.”  
“G’night, Yoongi.”  
And off he disappeared behind the pompous wizard’s portrait and off Yoongi went to Slytherin's portrait in the dungeon. The tall, skinny man boarded in the frame greeted him nastily and Yoongi swiftly trailed inside, hoping the Prefect, Kyungsoo, was fast asleep so he wouldn’t get caught. The common room was silent and empty, save for the soft crackles of the fire in the grate, and Yoongi quickly hurried up the staircase. At the door he heard the slight rustling of covers and insisted Jungkook was probably already sleeping quite heavily inside and took it as cue to go on in. His mind still partially dancing with thoughts of Jimin, Yoongi quickly changed out of his robes and into his pajamas: a thin, red tank top and a pair of West Ham sweatpants. He examined his small biceps in the mirror.  
Maybe I should roll up my sleeves tomorrow, he thought. So Jimin can see my arms more.  
Without another diffident glance at his reflection, Yoongi carefully crawled into his bed and disappeared beneath the covers, hoping that if he didn’t dream of Quidditch, he’d at least catch a glimpse of his spectacled crush.  
***  
The rest of the week went by smoothly for Yoongi. For once the results of sessions of frenzied tutoring finally had come in handy: On Monday, he’d successfully turned a skittering little beetle into an acorn and Professor McGonagall had been so shocked, she’d almost forgotten to issue ten points to Slytherin; on Tuesday, Yoongi had left Professor Snape’s class one afternoon with an E after successfully brewing the Draught of Living Death for the first time; Wednesday had seen Yoongi leaving Divination with a huge grin on his face after managing to properly convince Professor Trelawney he’d seen himself getting thrown off a cliff in his crystal ball; He found himself leaving with a thousand compliments from Professor Flitwick after his “magnificent use” of the spell Diffindo on a test copy of one Gilderoy Lockhart’s old novels; lastly on Friday, a day that always found him in a good mood, Yoongi left one of his hardest classes—History of Magic—with an E on his last essay he’d written on the history of werewolves—a topic Jimin had studiously prepared him for. With all the good-natured praise and sudden idle feelings about schoolwork, Yoongi found himself not only extremely thankful for Jimin, but also, well almost definitely, extremely in love with him. No matter what time it was, it seemed the only person he could think about was Jimin. It had always been that way since the day they’d first met in the beginning of that year, but he’d never expected his feelings to draw out this far to where he couldn’t even close his eyes and take a simple nap without his mind getting invaded with buzzling thoughts of the boy.  
Right after History of Magic ended and he’d gotten hold of his newly marked essay, Yoongi had made to immediately find Jimin to alert him of the news. He found the boy before the Herbology room, helping Professor Sprout heave odd, tentacled plants into a cabinet.  
“Oh, hullo, Mr. Min,” Professor Sprout curtly nodded at Yoongi as he came upon them. “Doing well?”  
“Fantastic,” Yoongi grinned broadly as Jimin turned to look at him, a pot of a large, frantically moving plant tucked firmly in his grasp. “Need any help?”  
“Uh,” Jimin glanced down at the writhing plant below him, “yeah, sure.”  
Yoongi tenderly took the pot from Jimin’s arms, taking care to help the boy dust off a few flecks of dirt off his shoulder as he lightly set the pot down by a few others.  
“What are these? Mandrakes without heads?”  
Jimin chuckled feebly and Yoongi felt his heart stir. “Not really. They’re new plants from Albania. Very rare species, Sprout says.”  
“Definitely!” Professor Sprout called from the Herbology classroom. “There’s one more left, Mr. Jimin!”  
“Come check them out,” Jimin gestured for him to follow inside as he tenderly fixed his gloves. “Some have gotten pretty big.”  
“Whoah—what is that?” Yoongi cautiously pointed at a green, bulging patch of skin on Jimin’s palm.  
“Oh sh—that wasn’t there before!” Jimin warily glanced at the sore on his hand now swelling immensely. “I guess one of those things slashed me.”  
“We’d better get you to the hospital wing,” said Yoongi, carefully grabbing Jimin’s sleeve, “you know, before it gets worse…”  
“P-Professor Sprout!” Jimin leaned his head through the doorway of the Herbology room. “Me and Yoongi are heading to the hospital wing real quick! Apparently one of those things slashed me!”  
“Yes, yes, dear! Go on ahead!”  
Yoongi gestured for Jimin to follow and the two of them headed down the corridor, Yoongi silently praying that whatever was going on with that boy’s hand was not at all contagious.  
They reached the hospital wing a few minutes later; Madam Pomfrey was sitting languidly in a chair by the far end of the room as they entered, looking worn-out.  
“Hi, Madam Pomfrey,” Yoongi said, edgily. It wasn’t very uncommon for Yoongi to be in the hospital wing at all; Awkward mishaps with spells had sent him there way too many times too count which was certainly why Madam Pomfrey immediately responded with a start the moment he began edging into view.  
“What is it now, Yoongi?”  
“Actually, Madam Pomfrey—it’s not me.” He pointed carefully to Jimin who was staring awkwardly at his swelling hand. “Jimin’s injured himself.”  
Madam Pomfrey scrunched up her face as if she’d never heard of a Jimin in her life. “A-Alrighty then—I have a quick spell for that.” She dug out a pair of thin, transparent gloves from her pockets and quickly pulled them onto her hands. Jimin stepped forward as she carefully drew her wand and tapped it delicately against one of the rising boils on his hands. In an instant, the sickly green shade vanished and the swelling immediately ceased.  
“Well, that’s all. If it swells up again, I’d recommend this.” From out her pocket she pulled a thin tube of a harsh-smelling green paste. “Works every time.”  
Jimin carefully took it, stuffing it in his pocket. “Th-Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”  
“Yes, yes, your welcome boys.”  
Jimin and Yoongi idly left the wing and continued back down the corridor, Jimin contently rubbing the paste on his hand.  
“I really hope it doesn’t start back up again,” he muttered.  
“Did it hurt?”  
“Not much. It just felt really numb and yet it kind of itched.”  
“Kind of like a mosquito bite?”  
“Sure. Did you have something to tell me earlier? When you came by?”  
“Oh,” Yoongi quickly blushed. “Y-Yeah. I got my History of Magic essay back.” Yoongi dug into the bag tightly bound around his shoulders and withdrew the neat sheet of parchment with the red ‘E’ marked at the top. A smile of pure relief broke onto Jimin’s face.  
“That’s absolutely great,” he said, tenderly taking the sheet from Yoongi’s hand. “Wow—and you did everything I told you.”  
“Of course I did. I’d be an idiot if I hadn’t.”  
“I know, but—wow, Yoong, this is actually pretty good…”  
Yoongi turned to stare at Jimin’s dark, beady eyes running all across his paper. A sudden weird feeling jolted through him, hitting him so fast it made him stop right in his tracks. He had suddenly gotten this feeling out of nowhere: this feeling that he wanted to see Jimin’s eyes only focused on him and no one else. And yet he had no idea where it’d come from. He had always adored Jimin’s pretty brown eyes ever since their first study session together. But now, it was something a little more than admiration. He didn’t just see Jimin’s eyes as beautiful, but his whole being. His whole sturdy, spectacled figure that he’d grown to love so much. And now that he was drinking in that figure completely, taking in all its absolutely perfect, flawless beauty, he found another feeling coming over him. A feeling he knew couldn’t be stopped if he could help it.  
“Yoongi?”  
Yoongi snapped out of his daze to find Jimin’s eyes piercing right through his, his History of Magic essay still clutched delicately in his hand.  
“Huh?”  
“I—do you want your essay back?”  
Yoongi didn’t know what had come over him, but before he could stop anything, his hands had suddenly wrung around Jimin’s neck and forcibly fused their lips together. In his hasty vigor, he'd pushed Jimin against the wall, pinning him there tightly with his body. He allowed one hand to grasp the sturdy barrier behind them, their lips moving perfectly together. Jimin responded seamlessly to his desperate need, showing him the mutuality was real, true. He briefly questioned how far he could go, how many buttons of Jimin that were available to push, when he felt the boy’s hands land on his hips, kneading the skin through his shirt. He kept his hands on Jimin’s neck and kissed harder, mentally thanking himself for opting not to wear his robes that evening. Jimin’s hands felt so good against his body and he could only wonder how those fingers would feel running over every inch of his bare skin. His tongue slipped through his parted lips and the sweet taste of fresh fruit and chocolate exploded in his mouth. He boldly grabbed at Jimin’s belt, jerking him forward with a quick pull. His body fell against his, the fabric of his shirt crumpling against him. His hands ran up to Yoongi’s back, pressing flat against his spine.  
It was a while before they broke apart, panting and breathlessly staring at each other.  
“I know a room,” Jimin murmured softly, already beginning to start the corridor. “A closet.”  
And before Yoongi could question anything, Jimin had firmly grabbed his hand and whisked him swiftly down the corridor and out of sight.  
***  
"Yoongi!"  
A hand came to crash down swiftly on the Slytherin table, making a loud, clapping noise erupt from the wood. The black-haired victim sitting in front of the culprit snapped his head up, a string of egg hanging from his cornea to the swell of his nose.  
"What, Jungkook?"  
"This is the third time he's had to wake you up," said a tousled-haired Jin, sipping orange juice through a curvy, pink straw. "I've watched him."  
"Well, what do you want?" Yoongi ran a distressed hand through his locks, his face sagging against his palm.  
"Why are you so tired?" Jin muttered. "And where were you last night?"  
"What?" Yoongi scrubbed at his eyes.  
"Don't play dumb," Namjoon sniggered, drenching his pancakes with honey. Jin playfully fed him a stick of sausage. "Where were you?"  
"I wasn't anywhere," Yoongi snarled, resting his face on his cheek. "And even if I was, it's my business."  
"Alright, alright," Jungkook husked, "but I still remember seeing your silhoutte at like 3 a.m."  
"You probably saw Nearly Headless Nick or something," Yoongi picked up his fork, playing with his eggs. His eyes drifted over Jungkook's head to see a particular raven-haired vixen at the Ravenclaw table. Their eyes tediously met and the boy gave Yoongi a small, warm smile. Yoongi couldn't stop his eyes from lighting up with mirth, a full smile twitching at the corners of his lips.  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" came Jin's voice, loud and impatient in his ear. "You like Jimin?"  
Namjoon twisted to turn and look. "Jimin, what—"  
Yoongi suddenly reached across the table, his fingers closing around both Jin and Namjoon's ears. He tugged savagely and only let go when they gave a yowl of pain.  
"What the hell was that for?"  
"Don't stare at him! He doesn't like being stared at!"  
"So, that's where you were," Taehyung groused, as if suddenly having completed a very difficult puzzle. He leaned forward, dragging Jungkook with him, so his next words came out in a soft, shrill whisper. "You were out in the castle with Jimin—fucking."  
Yoongi nearly jumped out of his skin. "We were not—it's our business!"  
"So you were," said Jin, his eyes widening slightly. "Damn, look at Yoongi gettin' it!"  
A series of loud cat-calls and whistles issued along the table and Yoongi sunk his head in his hands, wishing the gargoyle that had gotten the Quidditch season postponed could come snatch him up too.


End file.
